


Whatsoever Passes Through the Fire

by Artemis1000, SerenPedac



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Adventure, Circle Mages, First Meetings, Gen, Grey Wardens, Mage Trevelyan (Dragon Age), Post-Dragon Age: Origins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-07-28 01:42:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20055970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artemis1000/pseuds/Artemis1000, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SerenPedac/pseuds/SerenPedac
Summary: Neria Surana and Alistair are on their way back to Ferelden when they encounter the site of an ambush. Only one survivor remains: Robin Trevelyan of the Ostwick Circle. Together, they set out to rescue his fellow enchanter, and learn something about themselves and magic (and not setting people on fire.)





	Whatsoever Passes Through the Fire

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Dragon Age Wiki's collab project, a meeting of SerenPedac's Neria Surana and Artemis1000's Robin Trevelyan.
> 
> "Whatsoever passes through the fire" is from the Canticle of Exaltations.

“We’ll have to cross those mountains, you know?” Alistair narrowed his eyes at the mountains in question. “And then find a boat to bring us back to Amaranthine.”

Neria raised an eyebrow. “I am aware of Thedas’s geography, yes.” She nudged her horse into a trot as the path before them widened. The trees lining the road were a welcome change from the barren landscape of the Anderfels they had left some weeks ago. 

“Good, I was worried for a moment we’d end up in Par Vollen, surrounded by Qunari. Not that I have anything against Qunari, lovely horns they have, really. Just wanted to make sure we were going back at some point.”

“Trust me, I want to go back as much as you.” Go back and leave the memory of Weisshaupt and the First Warden far behind. She wrinkled her nose at the thought of how she had been forced to keep up a façade about how they had ended the Blight. Not that the First Warden had believed a word of their explanation that Riordan must have been alive to absorb the Old God’s soul. Maker, but it was no different from the scheming in Orzammar or the politicking during the Landsmeet. Disappointing was the best she could call it, the Wardens should know better. 

“…right?” Alistair called her attention back to the present.

“Eh, what did you say?” 

“I was just thinking about how this trip reminded me of our travels during the Blight. You know I miss that sometimes? Sitting by the campfire, sharing stories, being attacked by darkspawn.” 

Neria chuckled. “Are you telling me you miss waking up to find darkspawn attacking camp? I seem to recall you not being very amused at the time.”

“At least we knew they were the enemy, plain and simple.” Alistair sounded innocent, like he hadn’t just guessed what she had been thinking about. Things had been simpler back then, even if their task had been more difficult. Neria grimaced, as soon as they were back in Ferelden, she could pretend the First Warden didn’t exist and that she only had to answer to herself. The man might not like it, but defeating the Blight had given her enough status that he wouldn’t interfere for the moment.

They rode on in silence, following one of the numerous streams that flowed from the Vimmark Mountains down to the Minanter River. Setting aside her worries about the Wardens, Neria concentrated on the rhythmic steps of her horse and the continuous sounds of chirping birds and buzzing insects. On their right, the Vimmark mountains rose, their peaks capped with white even at this time of year. As they rode south-east, the mountain range had become narrower and before long they would be exactly north of Ostwick, where a narrow pass would make crossing easier. 

Suddenly, the hairs on her arms rose from the tingle caused by the use of magic nearby and her grip on the reins tightened before even hearing the clash of weapons and screams of fighting. Her eyes met Alistair’s. In unison, they urged their horses into a gallop, trees flying by as they rode towards the clamour.

***

He should not be thinking of it as freedom. Robin knew it was wrong to feel a little bit lighter with every step that their small party took from the Circle Tower of Ostwick and yet here he was. Every step that took him further from the Circle felt like a step closer to being able to breathe freely, to move like every step wasn’t burdened down by leaden weights, to feel more like himself or at least the boy he used to be.

At 17 years of age, Robin Trevelyan was already tall enough to dwarf the middle-aged Senior Enchanter sullenly dragging his feet at his side and two of the three templars accompanying them. He also happened to be the only one in the group who was enjoying the trip, much to his increasing annoyance. The templars had been grumbling about taking mages on pleasure trips ever since they left Ostwick, stodgy old Ser Adolar loudest of them all, while Enchanter Richvine…

He wrinkled his nose at the man at his side, who was using his staff as a walking stick and kept pausing to wipe sweat from his brow. The less said about Enchanter Richvine, the better, he would have said, except the man would be his only company all the way from Ostwick to Starkhaven.

Robin rolled his eyes and made a point of walking in front of the Enchanter, and kicking out so that he sent some loose stones skittering towards him. The yelp this earned him was very satisfying and he couldn’t help sneering, “You know, we could have taken the path through the lowlands, if you hadn’t insisted we have to get to Starkhaven as soon as possible, and only the mountain paths will do.”

It was stupid, if you asked him. Starkhaven’s Circle had burned a year ago. Whatever artefacts Richvine was supposed to recover in the ruins would either have survived or not; another week wouldn’t make a difference. Not that he didn’t prefer the narrow, steep mountain path curving up the Vimmark, now leading them towards a narrow pass flanked by looming mountains. In the low-hanging afternoon sun, it was ominously shadowed and Robin shivered pleasantly as they approached. The spring to his steps became a little more pronounced yet as he pictured them getting attacked by a band of thieves or even by lingering darkspawn.

“Maybe we’ll get ambushed!” he piped up, “wouldn’t that be exciting?”

“Maker’s balls, Trevelyan! Do you ever shut up?” Ser Minette huffed. Being the best at reading maps, she spearheaded the group, while Ser Adolar and Ser Lithel walked behind the mages. 

They hadn’t been permitted horses and Robin suspected he was the cause for that. Enchanter Richvine was more likely to get himself killed on a horse but Robin had been riding since he was able to sit on a horse by himself. Although, if they feared he would run away, then he didn’t know why he had been allowed to come at all. Not that he knew why he had been allowed to come in the first place, best as he could see and as Richvine kept reminding him, he would be useless to him in Starkhaven.

“Oh come on,” he huffed. “You think it would be exciting, too!”

Ser Minette didn’t protest, which Robin took as tacit agreement. He went back to enjoying the brisk, fresh mountain air and the rich colors of the landscape. They were so different from the monotony of grey stone and dusty drapes at Ostwick. 

His surroundings became less colorful as they stepped into the shadow of the mountains, the world turning dim and in some places even dark. They moved slowly, careful to find solid footing with every step they took. It slowed them down even more than Enchanter Richvine’s fussiness. The sun sank lower. Robin was certain Ser Minette had wanted them making camp on the other side of the pass by now.

There was a skittering of loose stones right above him.

It was the only warning Robin got. When he looked up, still with mere lazy curiosity, he caught sight of a dark figure descending from some crevice above them and then he wasn’t looking up anymore because just ahead of him, metal met metal with an ear-splitting shriek.

Robin’s heartbeat stopped for a moment before it picked up at twice the speed. Bandits. There were at least a dozen hulking, armored figures wielding longswords and greatswords and one truly gigantic axe, throwing themselves at their templars in a frenzy.

Eyes wide, Robin stepped back, only vaguely aware there was nowhere to retreat to. He caught sight of Richvine, standing frozen right in the open, and yanked him by the arm. 

“Come!” he hissed, “We have to hide!” When the man wouldn’t move, he yanked harder, all but dragging him though he wasn’t sure where. He frantically turned this way and that. There was fighting both before them and behind them and the path was too narrow to sneak by unnoticed. They were trapped. “Oh screw this! You have to hide and I have to do… Something!”

He didn’t have a sword but he was a mage. He could get himself a sword. He grabbed the staff he was only allowed to use with explicit permission and thrust it at the three bandits who had Ser Adolar cornered. Lightning shot from the staff, wild and uncontrolled.

Somewhere behind him, he heard Ser Lithel give a scream that ended in a chilling gurgle and then he felt magic not his own build up. He felt wild hope soar in him. With two mages, they could turn the tide.

Stone exploded above them. Robin’s last thought before the world went black was that Richvine helping was worse than him not doing anything at all.

***

The road soon turned treacherous with loose stones, forcing Neria and Alistair to slow down. The tingle of magic on her skin had died down quickly, just like the sounds of fighting. Whatever had happened had been no more than a skirmish. Neria’s gloved hand went to the grip of the sword at her hip, sparks crackling between the tops of her fingers and the metal. 

The path took a sharp turn, walls of stone to either side blocking any direct sunlight. With no way to go but ahead or back, it was the perfect place for an ambush. Out of habit, she listened to the ever-present humming deep inside her, the song making her head ache even though it stayed low.

She gripped her sword tighter at the sight that greeted them when rounding the corner. Three bodies were strewn on the road, their armor coated in blood, now useless shields next to each of them. Templars. Farther down the pass, the path was blocked by rubble. No enemies to be seen.

“Maker's breath, what happened here?” Alistair said from behind her. 

Swinging her leg over the saddle to dismount, she said, “An ambush, but who would attack templars?” Trusting Alistair to have her back in case someone returned, she was off to investigate the nearest body. 

Blood trickled down from underneath the plates of armor, making its way between cracks in the rocks. The flicker of hope that the templar was alive was extinguished as soon as she removed the helmet. A woman was staring at her, eyes wide open as if in shock. For a moment the narrow pass turned into a tall hallway, but there was no time for that. With a steady hand, she closed the woman's eyes. Perhaps the others had fared better.

“Neria, over here,” Alistair called out just as she concluded there was nothing to be done for the last templar. Alistair was kneeling next to another body near the rockslide, this one not in armor but in robes. And the mage must have survived, judging by Alistair's urgent tone. Neria ran over. If he was alive, she could help. Skidding on loose rubble, she nearly fell down next to the mage who was covered by dirt and powdered rock.

“He seems to have no injuries other than that nasty gash on his head.” Alistair stepped back to give her space. After checking his heartbeat--strong and regular--she moved her hands to his head. Blood made his hair stick to his scalp, but barring that, he did seem fine. Magic filled her like cool water and threads of blue light enveloped the mage's body, concentrating around his head. The flesh knitted together and his eyes fluttered open.

“Stay down,” she ordered, feeling gingerly at where the gash had been to make sure any swelling was gone.

He came to quickly. One moment there was nothing, the next there was pain and light and then the pain was mostly washed away like a wave rolling over him leaving him clean. The light remained, like pinpricks stinging his squeezed-shut eyelids.

His eyes fluttered open to the sight of a woman leaning over him. Dark eyes flickered around, taking in the sight of sheer stone above him, back to the woman…

And suddenly, he remembered exactly where he was and what had happened. Robin’s heartbeat sped up, full-fledged panic constricting his throat once he noticed the sword-wielding woman being accompanied by a sword-wielding man.

He yelped and scrambled back, mindless to the sharp-edged stones from Richvine’s debris avalanche digging into his unprotected hands. “Get away from me!” he yelped. His voice shook and he scrambled faster, stopping only when he was out of the woman’s reach. He looked around again, now catching sight of shining templar armors dulled by dust and dirt and telltale blood. They were dead. Oh sweet Maker. They were dead and now he was going to die, too. How was he supposed to survive this if fully-trained templars had fallen? Uncontrolled, panic-fuelled magic sizzled in him, close to the surface like a kettle about to boil over.

”You murdered them!” A sharp gasp and he tried to get to his feet but tripped again in his haste, falling back onto his backside. His hands shot forward and a gust of flames spat out, wild and untamed, aimless without the help of his staff. “Stay away from me, you monsters!”

Heat scorched Neria’s skin before she could cast a force field around herself and Alistair. Red and orange flames licked the barrier, wanting to come in. She held her breath, unable to move. Even in here, she could feel the burning fire threatening to swallow her and it took every last bit of willpower to keep up the field. It could not harm her, she was save in here. Save in here… She repeated the phrase over and over, until another voice snapped her out of her trance.

“It’s over, might want to let go of the field,” Alistair sounded strained. Of course, the force field prevented them from moving, that was why it felt like she was choking. That was all. The fire was gone, like Alistair said and the mage was looking at them, wide-eyed with fear. He was afraid of them? They weren’t the ones throwing around fire! After watching him to make sure he wasn’t about to cast another blast of fire, Neria let go of the field.

As fresh air cooled her skin, she burst out, “You idiot! We just saved you!” 

“You did not!” he blurted out, just as heated. Fear-fuelled indignation turned his voice high-pitched. He finally succeeded in climbing to his feet and backed away until his back was pressed against stone. He kept his hands held out in front of him, ready to cast again, as he furtively looked around for a weapon. A staff, a sword, even a particularly large and sharp stone would do.

Yet all his eyes kept finding were dead templars. Dead, just like he would be in a moment. All the more so certain since the woman was a mage, too. His fire hadn’t even singed, let alone cowed her. 

He squinted at the two of them, squaring his shoulders and glaring for all he was worth even if they must know exactly how helpless he was. “Don’t come any closer, or I’m torching you alive!”

She made to encase him in a force field, let him feel what it was like to be attacked out of nowhere, when Alistair put a hand on her shoulder. 

“How about nobody throws around any magic and we just talk? Talking is good.” He grinned at her, but Neria noticed how his eyes immediately jumped back to the mage. With how scared the mage was, there was no telling what he would do. Still, with the fire gone he didn’t seem too dangerous and he was barely more than a boy.

“Talking, yes.” She drew a deep breath and forced her hand away from her sword. “So…” What did you say to someone who just tried to burn you and might do so again? 

While she was searching for words, Alistair took over. “I’m Alistair and this is Neria. I promise we’re not as scary as we look.” 

“I’m not scared!” he snapped, leveling his glare now wholly on the man. Alistair. He held himself like a seasoned warrior despite his relative youth, Robin could see as much though it had been years since he stood on the training grounds himself. He was definitely someone who had seen his fair share of battles. That didn’t make him any more trustworthy but at least it made it less likely that he was another mage. That was good.

He gulped. The two of them were trying to calm things down, so Robin lowered his hands as well. He crossed his arms over his chest, just one step short of properly hugging himself. After all, he still didn’t have a sword or a staff to hold on to. 

“I’m Robin.” His eyes flickered back to the woman, Neria. “Robin Trevelyan. Of the Ostwick Circle.” His gaze flickered to Ser Adolar’s corpse and quickly back to the tips of his boots instead. “They’re all dead. They killed them. Just like that. Because… I don’t even know why. They are templars, nobody hates templars!” His forehead furrowed. “Except for some mages. But it wasn’t mages attacking us. They used weapons.”

He was from a Circle. Of course he was from a Circle, she should have thought about that before. No wonder he was looking at her like she might turn into an abomination at any moment, she was an apostate in his eyes. Basically the same as a maleficar, from the Circle’s point of view.

“We’re Grey Wardens,” she explained. Hoping to prevent any further questions about her and Alistair, she said, “Now, as to what happened here, I agree it is quite strange. Bandits would have looted the bodies. Unless they were after something else. That leads to the question why you were travelling with those templars? Did you carry anything worth stealing?” She chewed on her lip, looking around to find any clues that would solve this mystery.

Grey Wardens! “Oh,” he exhaled, eyes going from one to the other again before they returned to the elf taking charge. For the first time since the attack, Robin felt himself relax the tiniest bit. He slumped and rubbed a hand over his face, leaving behind grey and white streaks on his dark skin. “Never thought I’d meet Grey Wardens. Ever!” His eyes sharpened on them with renewed interest. “Have you fought a lot of darkspawn? Do you know the…” His mouth snapped shut. “Neria and Alistair! You are… Are you…” His mouth closed. Opened again. He pointed a finger at the elf. “You… You… You’re the Hero of Ferelden and you didn’t tell me!”

These were very good questions Neria had been asking but now that the coin had dropped, the only thing on Robin’s mind was that he was in the company of the heroes he had devoured every story about. “Nobody’s going to believe I met the Hero!”

Neria’s attention snapped back to Robin, so far for trying to distract him. He seemed to have abandoned the idea of “torching you alive”, but she couldn’t decide if the excitement on his face was any better. Considering how careless his attack had been, he might let his grasp on magic slip and set something on fire again.

“Yes, I’m the Hero of Ferelden. I didn’t tell you before because you were trying to roast us, in case you forgot.” The words came out more pointed than she had intended, but it was the truth. 

“But I didn’t!” The kicked puppy look he shot her may not have been employed on purpose but it was certainly well-practiced. “You had your shield up.” He barked a laugh as he pulled himself away from where he was leaning against the steep wall of the mountainside. “Of course you had a shield. You’ve fought blood mages and demons and an entire archdemon.” Robin wiped his hands on his robes, though it did little to remove grit and dirt when his robes were just as dirty. He smiled sheepishly. “But for what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I don’t make a habit of trying to murder heroes.”

Murder. That word pierced through his excitement, reminding him where he was and why. The giddiness left his face, distress taking over once again as he looked at the corpses of the three templars. Richvine had to be somewhere around here, too, buried under his own debris avalanche. None of them had deserved such a fate.

“Right, never a good idea that. Trying to murder heroes, I mean. Maybe try offering food next time you run into one, I have it on good authority that cheese is appreciated.” There was nothing funny about the situation, yet Neria couldn’t stop her lips from curving upward at Alistair’s words. 

Robin didn’t seem to hear the teasing words, though. He was looking at the place of the ambush with a distant look in his eyes. Being away from the Circle and then attacked, his companions all dead, it must be a lot at once. It didn’t excuse him attacking them--losing control that easily was like asking to be possessed--but it did make his reaction understandable. She should offer some words of consolation.

“I’m sorry.” It sounded hollow, uncertain even, so she repeated in a stronger voice, “I’m sorry for what happened.” After a short pause, she added, “Where were you travelling?”

Belatedly, Robin’s eyes flickered to Alistair and he gave him a wan smile; appreciative of what he could discern as an attempt at humor though he hadn’t listened to the words he said. Not that he would have laughed, even if he had paid attention. His throat was feeling tight again and there was this heavy, cold feeling of dread in his belly. There was no room left for laughter.

He gave a small nod. “Starkhaven, to take a look at what’s left after their Circle burned down. That is, Enchanter Richvine was traveling for the books and the magical artefacts. I was just.. I don’t know.” He gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Going with them.” He walked aimlessly around, trying to make out the most promising place to start moving debris. There wasn’t so much as a scrap of the enchanter’s robes to see. “He must be around here somewhere. He was right next to me when I got knocked out.”

There was someone underneath those rocks?! She opened her mouth to tell Robin he should have said that right away, only to close it again after a look at the debris. The odds of surviving that were… not good. Still, they had to try to find him.

Folding her arms, she focused on finding a plan to get the missing Enchanter out and clear the road. With two mages, there must be better options than removing the rocks by hand. Bolts of energy, maybe. Those would shatter the stones and distribute the remaining pieces more evenly over the path. However, they would need to get the Enchanter out of there first, in case he was still alive.

As if to tell her how bad this idea was, a handful of pebbles rolled down from the mountain and ended up bouncing on the debris, causing miniature avalanches. Tracing back their path, she saw a fissure that, starting from the gap above her, ran horizontally over the mountainside all the way to where the two horses were waiting. Smaller cracks spread out from it, forming jagged patterns. All right, magical explosions wouldn’t be a great idea.

Spells involving Earth would have been a logical choice, had she known how to use them. She should have paid more attention to the lessons in Earth magic, even if it had seemed useless during her time at the Circle. Now wasn't the time to start experimenting with what little she remembered. 

She shot Robin a look; he might know more about it. The memory of the flames blasting from his hands, trying to reach her through the force field made her reconsider. With how coarse Primal magic was, a single wrong move might leave them buried beneath a new rockslide. She had never quite got the hang of elemental magic, only electricity didn’t feel as unwieldy as the other elements.

Wait, that might work--

“Robin, you can sense magic being used, yes?” Without waiting for an answer, she continued, “I’m going to probe the rubble with sparks, tiny sparks of electricity that you should be able to sense. Now, since electricity behaves differently in air, or rocks, than in a body, it should be possible to feel a change when I’m pointing my magic close to the body. This way, we can locate the Enchanter and get him out before flattening the rest of the rocks with force magic. I can’t conjure electricity and feel what it is doing at the same time, though, so I need you for the sensing. Can you do that?”

“Sure!” he said instantly, realizing a moment later that he wasn’t quite so sure. He understood in theory what she explained but in practice, it went well beyond the ways in which he employed magic. But sensing magic, just like seeing through the deceptions of demons, was a field he was good at, unlike the actual use of magic. These were the things he had trained for since he was a boy, his birthright even; it sure wasn’t shooting blasts of fire from his hands. 

He chewed on his bottom lip and rocked back on his heels, surveying the scene of mayhem grimly. They had to try; they would never be able to move all these rocks by hand before Richvine died, if he even was still alive by some miracle. He took a deep breath and nodded, saying with bravado he didn’t feel, “Okay. Let’s do it. I can do this.”

He watched Neria place herself in a spot from where she could cover a good radius of rubble easily, while he himself got out of the way of any sparks and hopefully, out of the way of further avalanches as well. He shot the jagged, cracked rock looming above them a dubious look. Getting knocked out by falling rocks once a day had really been enough to fill his quota.

Before he could lose himself in such thoughts, Neria forced his attention back to the task at hand by sending the first delicate spider web of lightning magic into the rubble at her feet.

Robin closed his eyes and focused on his breathing, on bringing it in sync with the whisper of the Chant at the back of his mind. His fear, his excitement, all of this vanished as years of practice narrowed his focus to the task at hand. There was magic lingering in the air and in the stones above him where Richvine had blasted the mountainside. He dismissed that and found the brightest star: Neria: She burned bright, magic honed well beyond what he could comprehend, some of it familiar to him and some not. Trail of electricity found, he followed it into the rubble, taking note how it changed as it met the lingering traces of Richvine’s magic.

“Nothing,” he said, his voice quiet but confident. Irritation licked at him, the niggling thought that he would be so much better at this if he had been permitted just another year or two of honing his mind in a way that made sense to him before being shunted off to the Circle, but he brushed that aside, too. Focus. Neria focused her lightning on an adjacent area and he again studied the pattern of her magic and again, found nothing.

The next area and the next they searched, like meticulously throwing stones into a lake until none of the surface had not been disturbed by ripples at least once.

Still, there was nothing. Doubt clawed at Robin as Neria sent one last filigree of lightning into the earth. Maybe he had overestimated his skill. No. He knew he could do this.

He opened his eyes and shook his head. “Nothing,” he said, again. His hands curled into fists at his sides. “There’s nobody under the rubble. And I know you’re not going to believe me but I would know. If he was here, I would sense him.” He didn’t even yet dare think about what that meant.

“I see.” She should doubt him, yet there was a certainty in him that was at odds with his panicked display of magic from before. He wasn’t trying to impress her either, he was simply sure of what he had--or rather hadn’t--found. That left one other option. “Maybe the Enchanter escaped on the other side.” 

There was only one way to find out and that was to push the rubble aside. If the Enchanter did turn out to be in there, and on the off chance that he had survived, this would crush him for sure. It was a risk they would have to take.

Robin was having similar thoughts, which made him eye the rubble in distress. He was chewing on his bottom lip again as he sized it up. His electricity and fire spells wouldn’t be much use there. “Yes. I guess. I… could try?” Whatever confidence had filled him while he sensed for magic, it was gone now in the face of having to use earth spells he had little skill with, a life hanging in the balance if he messed up. 

“Maybe we should just stay away from magic. If we’re careful we should be able to climb it without making things worse. Or much worse, anyway. Worse worse than we would if we used magic.” He looked towards Alistair, hoping for support in his magic-free solution from the warrior.

“We could do that, but I doubt our horses agree with that plan.” Alistair looked from Neria to the rocks and back.

She took in the young mage. He had said he had some skill with earth-based magic, though not in as many words. Any confidence he had shown about the probing for the enchanter was gone, he was hesitant about using magic. She frowned, there was no easier and quicker way than magic to solve this. Besides, the only way to get used to magic was to practice.

“Listen, we are going to use magic to get rid of that rubble. A combination of earth and force. You’ll push a layer of rocks off the pile, like how you would make a Stonefist but not with that much force. Then you can let them go and I’ll slowly lower them to the ground by casting force magic underneath them. It shouldn’t be difficult, but I need you to be confident. If you doubt yourself…” She nodded at the fissure above them. “If you doubt yourself, we’ll get buried.”

Alistair whispered under his breath, “No pressure.” 

She chose to ignore his comment. “It’s true for all magic, you have to fully commit yourself to it, otherwise it will use you and you don’t want that.”

“I know magic’s dangerous, you don’t have to tell me!” Robin snapped, coming out of his hunched posture to indignantly square his shoulders. “I’m not doubting myself, I’m just realistic! Excuse me for not wanting to get more people killed!” He inhaled sharply and rubbed his hands over his face. They still had grit to them and were smeared with blood where stones had left tiny cuts. 

He studied the buildup of debris. It really would take a long time to clear the path for the horses, Alistair was right about that. He hadn’t even considered these when he made his suggestion of climbing. After all, he didn’t have one, he would need to make his way to the closest Chantry by foot.

“Okay,” he ground out, “okay, we can do it your way. Just… Just don’t say I didn’t warn you or anything.”

Neria bit back a response about how magic wasn’t dangerous, it was the people using it that could bedangerous. They had wasted enough time. She nodded at Robin to start and soon, the first rocks went flying through the air. Instead of a protective barrier, she imagined the force field to be a pillow that caught the debris and gently lowered it to the ground. Her breathing was steady; inhale to cast, exhale to lower.

He was inwardly still seething while he worked, which all things considered wasn’t the smartest thing to do, yet his indignation also served to distract Robin from his own doubts and dithering. He did as she had bade him, moving layer after layer of debris. It wasn’t neat work, there were several times he disturbed the pile and sent pieces skittering every which way though he sought to move only one layer. Sadly, it was to be expected of a thoroughly mediocre mage his age and experience. Still, there was a distinct lack of death and dying.

All things considered, he thought he had done well and even felt a little pride mixed in with the relief by the time the path was cleared enough for the horses to pass. 

Robin wiped sweat from his brow and slumped against a jagged outcropping. “That… didn’t go so badly.” His eyes sought out Neria and her approval before he caught himself, looking away. As his luck would have it, his eyes landed on one of the dead templars. He swallowed hard. One problem solved, the next was already knocking. “We can’t leave them. They deserve better than becoming scavenger feed.”

There had been no new rockslide to crush them, that was good. Neria tested the spread-out rubble to make sure it was even and stable enough for the horses to tread on. Concluding it would do, she nodded to herself.

She turned around to find Robin looking at one of the templars, his face pale. From exertion or because of the dead body? Had he known the templar well? To her, the templars were nameless victims and it was easy to forget they were people with a life, they had friends and family that would miss them. It wasn’t right to treat them the same as she would darkspawn. 

“You’re right, they deserve better.” She looked at Alistair. “Can you lift them onto the horses? We’ll give them a funeral as soon as we’re out of this mountain pass.”

Alistair nodded and went on his way to get the horses, while she removed the largest pieces of armor.

“Thank you,” Robin said quietly, though he didn’t even think she was doing it for him. If they were anything like the stories told about them, Neria Surana and Alistair would do the right thing simply because it was right. That was what heroes did, after all.

While Alistair fetched the horses, Robin started on the task of collecting the scattered swords and shields of the dead. Carrying three corpses, he figured the horses wouldn’t be able to carry anything else. If the Wardens had use for these weapons, they could return for them later. He checked them for damage, setting aside the best sword and shield while he stabbed the other swords into a small pile of rubble, templar shields arranged around them.

By then Alistair had brought the horses and he rushed over to help, loading the blood-splattered corpses onto the backs of the horses and tying them in place. In their full armor, the corpses were heavy and difficult to move. They worked fast and in silence, even Robin didn’t feel like talking. The task was too gruesome. He hadn’t known these templars beyond the usual but they died doing their duty, defending Richvine and him. He never liked to think about how dangerous the lives his siblings and cousins led was and that wasn’t even taking into account the regular, mundane dangers of guard work such as the one that had killed these knights.

“You are an apostate but you don’t hate them,” he remarked once they were underway. 

He carried a sword and shield awkwardly in his hands. He had found himself stuck, not comfortable carrying a shield with the templar crest as if it belonged on his back, yet no more willing to abandon the extra protection it promised. If he was to make his way to the next town alone and on foot, he would need all the help he could get. 

His mouth twisted into a sneer. “Richvine sure didn’t waste any time.” Whether the Enchanter had seized the opportunity and ran or simply died farther away, he had still abandoned the rest of them to their fate.

“It helps the templars aren’t at my heels, trying to bring me back to the Circle,” Neria said dryly. “But no, I don’t hate them, they only do their duty.” 

Soon, the path widened and hardy flowers made white and lilac spots on the mountainsides, later accompanied by low bushes. When they reached an open spot with a group of gnarled trees on one side, Neria signalled for them to stop. The ground had gone from barren rock to pale yellow grasses that clung to a layer of dirt. It wasn’t a beautiful or peaceful place, but they didn’t need that for their task. The harshness of the mountains fitted the fate of the templars.

The cry of a bird tore through the silence in which they prepared the pyre, startling Neria. She watched the dark shape circle in the sky above them. How many times had she watched the birds above lake Calenhad from her favourite windowsill in the Tower. Without thinking, she asked, “Can you see the birds from the Ostwick Circle?” 

“I can. I would just rather not.” It seemed like the kind of statement which would lead to further questions, so he added curtly, “I don’t like to be reminded of what I lost.” Even saying as much ached and he was glad to busy himself collecting fuel for the funeral pyre. He had gathered a mere armful by the time he realized they would never find enough to fully incinerate one corpse, let alone three. At least not before Neria ran out of patience. Defeated, his poking in the underbrush turned listless.

That was, listless right until something metal glinting in the bushes caught his attention. He reached down, hoping for a dagger, and ended up holding a staff blade, the jagged, broken-off end of a staff still attached to it. Making a startled noise, he dropped the bundle of wood and crouched down, searching until he found the rest of the staff snapped into three pieces.

He felt faint for a new reason as he returned to Neria and Alistair’s side with his find. “I don’t think Richvine ran away,” he said, holding the broken pieces up for inspection. “He hasn’t lived a day outside the Circle in fifty years. He doesn’t know how to do a thing without magic. He wouldn’t run if his staff had broken.”

Grateful for the change of topic--what in the Maker’s name had she been thinking when asking about the birds?--Neria nodded her understanding. Though it was possible to use magic without a staff, it was more difficult and unfocused. With bandits around, the Enchanter must have known he didn’t stand a chance without his staff. 

“If he didn’t run and there’s no body, it appears the bandits have him.” But why? And in what condition would the Enchanter be? They must have forced him to give up his staff to make sure he wouldn’t pose a threat. Speculation on his faith wouldn’t help the man, however. 

“Alistair, do you think we can catch them?”

He looked around, searching for tracks in the dirt. Since there was only one way to go, he found the tracks almost immediately. “I’d say so. They are on foot and we have horses. As long as we don’t lose the trail, we should catch up with them before sunset.”

“Good. We’ll have to finish up quickly, then.” She suppressed a grimace at hearing her own choice of words, like the dead templars were a chore on their list. They couldn’t let the bandits get ahead too far, however, and with how slow the pyres were coming together, they would be here until nightfall. There was one other way to give the templars a proper burial without delaying them.

“So, Robin…” She took a breath. Was she really asking this? “Could you make a fire to burn the bodies? Please?”

“With magic?” he responded, wide-eyed. A moment later he realized how foolish the question had been. Of course it would have to be with magic. He looked at the men in their silver uniforms, the black Sword of Mercy emblazoned on their chests. They had been relieved of their helmets, their hands folded. There was no time to clean away the blood or hide the marks of their violent deaths but in an Andrastian funeral by fire, that mattered little in the end. “Isn’t that… I don’t know. Disrespectful of what they stand for?”

His front teeth caught on his bottom lip, biting down hard enough to hurt. It felt wrong. Then again, no self-respecting templar would be glad to see mages wasting time wringing their hands. Patience had never been the Order’s strength.

It was a question she had asked herself as well. It almost felt like sacrilege to use magic for burning the dead, especially when the ones that had died had spent their lives keeping magic under control. That she didn’t agree with how that was done didn’t mean she wanted to insult their belief. 

She gave Alistair a questioning look, he had trained to be a templar after all. In return, he smiled slightly, as if telling her she would make the right choice. Her doubts were quieted by seeing how he trusted her judgement and she met Robin’s eyes without wavering. “We couldn’t help them, but there’s someone that we might rescue if we are fast enough. Is there a better way for magic to serve man than to save a life?”

There was undeniable truth in her words and the confidence she exuded filled him with some confidence, too. Robin nodded. “To serve, then,” he echoed. This way, it sounded right. “The Chantry would approve of that, at least.” Or maybe not, but he needed to believe it right now. If his religious training hadn’t been cut short quite so early, maybe he would have his own answers. As it was, he would have to make do with Alistair and Neria’s.

He grabbed the plain, unadorned staff he used from his back and gripped it tightly as he stepped toward the pyre, positioning himself so he would be able to set a magical fire to all three pyres at once. He inhaled, gathered magic within him for a fire far larger than he normally dared use.

No, that wasn’t right. “Stop!” Neria pushed his staff down so it pointed safely at the ground. Her heart was beating too fast, but she’d been on time. She’d prevented him from lighting an inferno that was out of his control. “You have to start like this.” Her sword held like a staff, she showed him at what angle he should keep it. After confirming he understood, she sheathed her sword, her hands feeling clammy in her gloves.

He suffered through the instructions silently, too stunned to even think of protesting until she was already done explaining, and he found himself holding his staff as she had told him to. “If you know better you could just do it yourself, you know,” he grumbled, mostly to soothe his pride. Really, she didn’t need to sound quite so alarmed.

Staff now pointed downwards, to light flames at the bottom of the pyre instead of shooting them straight at the corpses, he gathered his magic again. Fire. Think of fire, of blistering heat, of the crackle of flames, and shape that into magic. This was what always scared him the most, that moment right before the magic burst out of him and he wasn’t sure he could trust the results to be what he wanted. Focus faltering, he shot her a suspicious look out of the corner of his eyes, half expecting to be stopped again. The buildup of magic hiccuped.

“Wait!” She winced at her high-pitched yell. “I mean, wait, please.” That was better. “You can't let the staff sway like that. You'll set us all on fire.” A twitching muscle near her left eye made scowling difficult.

Before she could say anything else, Alistair was at her side. In a soft voice, he said, “Maybe you should give him a chance. It didn't seem to me like he was trying to set us all on fire. Besides, didn't you say we needed to hurry? I doubt our Enchanter is giving the bandits lessons on how to aim magic.” He smiled his crooked smile and her lips followed as they always did. They did need to move on, he was right about that. If that meant giving Robin a chance, well, she would try.

“Right. You can continue, I won't interrupt.” Unless it all goes wrong and the flames burn us all. It was a stupid thought. His attack when they’d met had been reckless, unfocused even, but it had hit where it had been aimed at: her and Alistair. If he could do that when panicked and scared, setting fire to an unmoving target shouldn’t be a problem. Nevertheless, she gripped her sword tightly in the hope of stopping her hands from trembling as she watched him.

“I’ll believe that when I see it,” he muttered under his breath. Although he was often scorned as self-centred in the Ostwick Circle, Robin happened to be quite perceptive, and right now these skills permitted him to be perfectly aware of how tense Neria was. He scowled, a sulky thought crossing his mind of just thrusting the staff at her and telling her once again to do it herself. This kind of fretting would be normal for him, sure, but the great Hero of Ferelden clearly wasn’t scared of magic. She was just scared of him doing magic. He fought down the hurt. Even strangers knew that him and magic, that was all wrong.

Yet, fight down the hurt he did, and dutifully returned his attention to the pyre. He gripped his staff firmly with both hands, holding it perfectly steady, and started the build up of magic all over again. Feel the flames, let the magic build. Releasing a fire spell into his staff always felt like stepping back after having been too close to a fire. This time, he held onto it and let flames keep spraying from his staff. The stream of fire sputtered and hiccupped, flames licking here and there where they shouldn’t, albeit never coming too close to any of the three. With supernatural speed, the pyres were entirely ablaze, burning brighter and hotter than any regular pyre would though they had barely enough fuel for a campfire.

He bowed his head respectfully, left arm crossed over his chest as he had once learned in a different lifetime. This, too, felt wrong, a different, more bitter kind of wrong. Recalling the proper words meant opening the floodgates to memories best forgotten, to an entire life best forgotten. 

“Ashes we were, and ashes we become,” he said quietly, solemn and sounding far older than his years, as if he hadn’t been just another sulking teenager mere moments ago. “Maker, give your champions a place at your side. Let us take comfort in the peace they have found in eternity.”

Alistair followed Robin’s gesture and, after watching the fire for a few more heartbeats, so did Neria. The fire showed no signs of spreading further, the flames content with the pyre the three of them had built. Her tension flowed away, carried by the plumes of smoke drifting up. In its place came sorrow for those templars she hadn’t known, but that had died protecting their charges. Glancing at Robin, his head bowed, a familiar weight settled in her chest; she would take over the duty that had cost the templars their lives.

“May they rest at the Maker’s side,” Alistair said.

“Amen.” The word felt strange after years of not using it. In silence, they watched the fire consume the bodies. Enhanced by magic, it burned rapidly and before long, only ashes and glowing coals reminded of the burial. 

She cast another look in Robin’s direction. If he was to be her protégé for the time being, he should be well-equipped. His staff was fine, but the way he had carried the sword and shield in his hands wouldn’t do. She went over to where the remaining templar armor lay and took one of the sword belts. 

He was still standing where she left him, watching the remnants of the fire. She cleared her throat. 

“I thought you should have this. It would make it easier to carry that sword. If you want, I can help you strap the shield on your back.” She tilted her head. It sounded distant, even to her. Though words had never been her forte, she had learned how important they were in the few years since becoming Warden-Commander. “You… You did well.”

Once the floodgates were opened, Robin’s thoughts inevitably kept returning to the life he had been forced to leave behind. Standing still, in silence, gave him little to work with to keep such thoughts at bay. If magic was the Maker’s gift then the Maker was as good at gift-giving as Auntie Marigold, who had insisted on gifting him her latest misshapen taxidermy project every Satinalia.

Neria clearing her throat pulled him out of his ever more morose thoughts. He looked at her, already braced for more nagging. Instead, he found himself stunned. He blinked at her, caution shining in his dark eyes. Caution, soon mixed with hopeful excitement at her praise. A grin tugged at the corners of his mouth and he quipped, “Really? You think so? Because you know, if the Hero of Ferelden says it then it’s definitely true and the Senior Enchanters can suck it.”

The sword belt he watched for a moment longer in indecision, hand halfway to reaching for it. She couldn’t know the pain of carrying sword and shield again. Or maybe she could. She had been a Circle mage, too. He reached for the belt and as he put it on, found that the movements still came easily after four years. Sword at his hip, he looked at her again. “I would like it if you’d help me with the shield. I haven’t carried one in so long.” A moment’s hesitation, then, “Is it very silly for a mage to want one?”

Maker, he wasn’t going to use her words as a justification to disobey his enchanters, was he? Imagine the unrest that would cause in the Ostwick Circle and no doubt the First Warden would admonish her if he learned she had caused a mage to rebel against his superiors. 

She was piecing together a reply when his request for help with the shield came, followed by his question. A shield had never suited her, handling one felt clumsy and they were too large. On Robin, a human-sized person, it wouldn’t look silly, she was sure of that. But, that wasn’t what he had asked. The weight of the sword at her hip reminded her of how Alistair had told her mages weren’t supposed to run headfirst into battle, worry about her creasing his brow. Well, she had shown him mages could do that just fine.

“No, it’s not. I think a sword-and-shield mage sounds good, don’t you? Just don’t go charging at your enchanters.” Hopefully, he would heed the warning. Taking the shield, she stepped beside him to help him put it on.

Oh, he was absolutely going to use her words against Ostwick’s enchanters, though it remained to be seen whether anyone at the Circle would believe he’d met the Hero of Ferelden on his book-hunting mission. 

He rolled his eyes at her words. “As if I would; I’ve got some sense. Besides, they wouldn’t be much of a challenge anyway. They’re all wimpy, boring Circle mages. The only way they could win a fight would be by stabbing you in the eye with a quill.” He rearranged the straps to which he had his staff attached to make room for the shield, bending his knees a little when Neria helped adjust them for him. It was such a simple and familiar gesture; gentle hands helping him with his shield, accompanied by rebukes and warnings and encouragements… Robin blinked away tears suddenly prickling in his eyes. 

She bit her lip to keep from laughing at his description of Circle mages, but a snort escaped her anyway. No matter how inappropriate it was, there were more than a few faces that came to mind when hearing his description. He might be underestimating those enchanters, though, like she had underestimated Wynne.

After assuming a neutral expression as best she could, she stepped back to check if the shield was hanging properly. “There you go.” Shield, sword and staff, the unusual collection didn’t look out of place on him. Not even in his mage robes. 

Only when she nodded her approval did she see the expression on his face. It wasn’t sadness, not exactly. Maybe he felt out of place being away from the Circle. _I don’t like to be reminded of what I lost._ His curt reply to her tactless question sent a pang of guilt through her that she quickly pushed aside. No, he did not long for the familiarity of the Circle. Not sure if he’d appreciate her concern, she returned her attention to their task.

“We should go. Are you ready?”

“I’m ready. Don’t know about you two. Slowpokes!” He blinked twice more until he was certain there wouldn’t be a conspicuous shine left to his eyes. Only then did Robin feel ready to face Neria and Alistair again, wearing a cocky grin to match his forcefully jovial tone of voice.

He was first to the horses, who would be able to go much faster now that they weren’t carrying the corpses of three heavily-armored knights. He gave his companions a contemplative look as he took turns petting both horses. There were three of them and only two horses. “Can I ride with you, Neria? I promise I won’t be any trouble, I have been riding horses all my life long. We will be faster than if I walk.”

“Yes, you can ride with me.” She mounted her horse and waited for Robin to get seated behind her. Her gelding shook his head and took an irritated step to the side when he felt the added weight, but calmed down after Robin had found the best way to sit. Without looking back, Neria joined Alistair where the path continued. 

They rode in a brisk pace, going as fast as the terrain would allow while they watched out for trails left by the bandits or the Enchanter. Tracks were difficult to find on the hard stone ground and when the path split, there was no way of telling where to go. They went for the track on the right for no other reason than Robin saying it was the road he had taken on his way here. When they eventually reached a mossy patch and Alistair didn't find any recent tracks, they decided to go back to try the other path.

Neria fumbled with the reins, looking from the road to the sky. To the west, the sun had disappeared behind the mountains and the deepening shadows made it difficult--even for her elven eyes--to make out any details on the ground. If they didn't find any signs of the bandits soon, they would have to stop for today. That would reduce, maybe ruin, their chances of intercepting the bandits on time. 

“Look!” Alistair said, pointing at a low bush at the side of the road. “That's a fancy piece of clothing, you think it's the enchanter's? Or we could be following the most well-dressed bandits in all of Thedas.”

With renewed hope, Neria prompted her horse to go faster, forgetting about Robin until his surprised cry at the sudden movement. He didn't complain, however, so she rode on.

Soon, the mountain pass widened and the ground turned to grass and dirt, making it easy to follow the tracks. When the sky turned red and purple, a glow emerged from ahead. As they got closer, they reached a narrow path leading up the mountainside to a plateau. The reddish glow came from what must be a cave lining the plateau.

Despite them being out of hearing range, Neria said in a hushed voice, “That has to be them. We should make a plan.”

“I say we just rush in there and take our revenge,” Robin blurted out as soon as she had finished speaking of the need for a plan. Which did sink in a moment later and his shoulders drooped. “Or… we could make a plan,” he conceded.

He frowned at the cave. It was well-placed, giving the bandits a good view on anyone approaching on the road. It was a good choice, unfortunately, and there were only three of them. He tried to recall what he had learned all these years ago before going to the Circle but he had been young, his training focusing more on swordsmanship and discipline than leading troops into counter-attacks.

“It’s getting dark anyway, at this point we might as well wait until full dark. Then we can get fairly close on horseback and continue on foot. It will be too late for them to do much by the time they notice us.” He shrugged. That was about as much as he had. “And then I still say we take revenge. You two are Wardens! They won’t stand a chance against you.”

It was a plan, or at least the beginning of a plan. If only he wouldn’t be so fixated on revenge, he might just run off and do his own thing the moment she looked away. They needed a more detailed plan.

“Waiting until it’s dark to go up is a good idea. We take out the guard if needed, but I don’t want anyone dying unless there’s no other choice. I’ll cast a spell on their weapons that makes them unwieldy, while Alistair can cover us, and Robin, you focus on getting the Enchanter out.” She looked over her shoulder to make sure Robin had heard and repeated, “We don’t go around killing people blindly.”

“But…” He snapped his mouth shut. His bottom lip pushed forward in the beginning of a pout. “It’s not like I want to kill anyone,” he muttered. It had been a good plan and it would have been awesome, fighting side by side with two Warden heroes. “I’m just saying they’ll try to kill us, so we shouldn’t take any risks.” He shrugged and slipped from the horse, since they did seem to agree on waiting. “You weren’t there,” he added quietly. “It was awful. They didn’t show any mercy.” He gulped, eyes meeting Neria’s. “I’ve seen dead people before but never like this.”

She dismounted as well. Her hand went up, like it would for a pat on his shoulder, and fell down again. She understood his pain and his desire for justice, but if he ran in and got attacked, she might not be able to protect him. It was her duty as a Warden to protect people and that included the ones that didn’t look like they’d earned that protection.

“We can always give them a good scare, you know?” Alistair said, joining them. “You two are mages, I’m sure you can think of something unpleasant.”

Before Robin could leap on this idea, Neria said, “The most important part is getting the enchanter out. Maybe, afterwards, there will be an opportunity for other things.”

“You’re no fun,” Robin complained, “I like Alistair’s idea better.” He gave Alistair a hopeful look. Maybe he would be able to talk Neria around during the wait. “It’s not the same if we give them the scare after the battle. That’s just bullying then.” So much for a grand entrance. He sighed, still a little disappointed, and distracted himself with petting Neria’s gelding. He really was a fine mount, though he hadn’t been happy about carrying two. 

“But yes. I can get Richvine out while you’re fighting without killing. I’d bet they have him tied up. Probably at the back of the cave, though I don’t think he’d be running either way. He must be terrified.” Robin’s brows furrowed. “I never liked him much but he doesn’t deserve this. He’s just an annoying old man, the worst things he ever did in his life are being terribly boring and liking dusty old books.” His frown deepened before he added, more in a mumble to himself, “And, well, being a jerk to me when I first joined the Circle. But that goes for everyone.”

Neria was about to give him a lecture, a truly interesting one, on how important those ancient texts were when she picked up his last sentence. He didn’t know or perhaps had forgotten that elven hearing was more sensitive than that of humans, meaning she heard every word. He did not like the Enchanter, then, yet he had been concerned about the man’s fate and was willing to rescue him, a task that wasn’t without danger. She reconsidered the lecture, he would get enough of those at the Circle.

“Considering we have to wait, why don’t Alistair and I tell you about our adventures as Wardens?” She looked at Alistair, who, from the grin on his face, already had a story or two ready to share. Good, that was one person who had forgotten about any reckless ideas, what about the other one?

“Warden stories?” Robin yelped, large brown eyes lighting up. The gelding nickered in protest at the sudden noise and he laughed, giving him an apologetic pat. Even with nothing but grimness ahead of them, he couldn’t help feeling heartened. He was in the company of real life heroes and even better than that, they were nice. He flashed Neria a cheeky grin. “Will there be griffons?”

It was quite safe to say, he would be thoroughly distracted by past heroics from plotting any reckless heroics of his own.

“Griffons? Remember that time you went on pestering Wynne about griffons?” Alistair laughed. “She was afraid to speak to you again for like a month.”

“More like a week, but a very pleasant week, that was,” Neria sighed. “No lecturing, no second-guessing of my personal affairs.”

“You should’ve seen her face in those Dalish ruins when we heard scary noises and I said it might be a griffon.”

Neria laughed. Wynne must have been so worried about her reaction to finding an actual griffon. “Did you really say that? She must’ve been relieved to find out it was nothing more than a dragon.”

“That reminds me...” Alistair started another story from their time during the Blight and Neria was content to listen. The three of them sitting together, sharing stories, it was almost like during the Blight, but without the darkspawn and constant trouble. Her eyes found the glow that was getting brighter as the sky turned darker. Maybe not without trouble. Fortunately, Robin had them to help him, just like she hadn’t been alone during the Blight.

One story led to another and Robin found himself utterly captivated by them. Alistair and Neria may not have been storytellers by trade but they spoke with experience and the friendly teasing, the laughter between them left him feeling warm and content. It was an evening he wouldn’t have wanted to ever end.

It was the experienced fighters who decided it was dark enough for them to leave and all Robin could do was keep from begging for just one more story. It would be the last of their companionship, he knew. Once Richvine had been rescued they would be returning themselves into templar custody while the Wardens continued on their adventures.

They got onto the horses again for as far as they dared go. It was a dark night, only a sliver of the moon lighting their way just enough to keep from riding into a ditch. Even so, they had to ride so slowly it turned out they might as well have walked. To the Wardens it may have been nothing but Robin felt the wait acutely, his heart pounding faster with every moment while anxiety pooled in his belly and had him near sick by the time they abandoned the horses to approach on foot.

They took a circuitous route up to the cave, approaching it sideways rather than straight ahead in the hope that the guard would be looking forward. The single man sitting guard seemed bored anyway, he sat right in the area illuminated by the bandits’ campfire, starkly lit for all to see as he cleaned his nails with a dagger. 

It was nerve-wracking, every step on uneven, steep ground in the dark risking death or discovery if they hit any loose rocks. Robin went second, blissfully unaware of any intent the Wardens might have had to catch him in the event he slipped.

Then they were there, and he still hadn’t decided whether he would fight with sword or staff. They were a mere stone’s throw from the cave’s entrance when the guard grunted and stood up, walking forward to the edge of the plateau to stretch his legs. Or maybe he’d heard something. They would never know, for Robin yelped, the hand he slapped against his mouth coming too late.

It was on then, Alistair rushing forward to take on the guard and Neria and Robin to go into the cave proper.

Robin had been pretty certain he knew what they would find. Reality was nothing like it.

There were sleeping bags scattered around and weapons discarded, though the bandits hadn’t laid down to sleep yet. They sat farther into the cave around another source of heat and fire, this one just a pile of stones set to glow the likes of which you could do with fire magic. They sat relaxed, drinking and talking and amidst them sat an elderly man in colorful Circle mage robes. He was unbound, a flask in his hand, laughing along to whatever story was being told.

Robin froze with a hand on the pommel of his borrowed sword. His stomach plummeted. 

The bandits seemed equally frozen.

“What…? Why…?” He shook his head. No. It couldn’t be. It was impossible. He couldn’t. 

The bandit with the giant axe rose to his feet, hefting his weapon over his shoulder. It still bore dried blood. “Damn it, Richvine, you told me the kid’s dead!”

The Enchanter growled, lowering the flask he was clutching too tightly now, eyes going from his friends who were now glaring and hissing at him to Robin and the two fighters he had brought. “That’s what I thought!”

Again, Robin shook his head. “No…”

This was not good. Definitely not good. Neria cast the spell she had been preparing for and the blade of the leader’s axe tilted so that it was no longer facing them. A subtle shift, the full effect of the spell wouldn’t be noticeable until they attacked.

She reached for the Fade again, goosebumps spreading over her arms as she kept the magic in check. Next to her, she felt Alistair’s presence, ready to attack when she gave the sign. Which was not just yet, she needed to be sure first.

“What is going on? Explain yourselves!” With a touch of magic, her voice boomed in the cave.

“What’s it look like, knife ear?!” the leader growled, raising himself to as much of his full height as he could inside the cave. Standing tall, he would have been towering but even hunched over, he made for an impressive sight with a broad chest and arms as thick as Robin’s thighs. He seemed unimpressed by Neria’s magic trick, though his men shifted uneasily, some looking longingly towards the entrance of the cave as if they were thinking of making a run for it. The leader, though, turned his glare back on Richvine. “Filthy little mage played us!” 

“I did not!” Richvine yelped. He edged away, pressing his back against the wall of the cave. “I was honest with you, I didn’t…”

His protests went completely ignored. The leader lifted his axe higher. “And now he’s going to die for it!”

Robin made a squawking noise he would be utterly mortified by in hindsight. It was all happening too fast, far too fast, suddenly the huge bandit leader was throwing himself at the old mage who was defenseless without his staff and he was closer than Neria or Alistair. If he had been thinking, he would have realized that her magic didn’t rely on being in melee range. If he had been thinking, he would have realized there might still be a chance to resolve this without bloodshed. Only, Robin Trevelyan wasn’t thinking anymore. 

Acting solely on instinct, he drew his sword from the scabbard and threw himself at the bandit with a battle cry. The man diverted the path of his axe and his body’s momentum towards Robin. The sudden shift and Neria’s spells were the only things that prevented the huge battle axe from splitting his skull with the first blow. Instead, it glanced off his hastily raised shield and smashed into the wall, sending little pieces of stone skittering.

Even with a mere glancing blow, Robin buckled under the force of a blow the likes of which he hadn’t taken in four years. His sword arm came up frustratingly slowly, his feet didn’t even feel like they belonged to him, and the scraggly-haired giant of a man was already turning towards him again, murder in his eyes. 

“A little help here?” Robin yelped as around him, the other bandits grabbed their weapons and threw themselves into the battle.

Electricity flickered from one bandit to the next, the harsh light making sharp shadows. Alistair rushed past her to help Robin. Take out the mage first, there was no telling what he would do. She cast a force field to encapsulate him. The rush of battle and magic filled her. The lines between the waking world and the Fade blurred.

Her sword crackled with magic when she drew it and she charged the nearest bandit. It slid smoothly through the man’s stomach. He collapsed. Draw back weapon. Repeat. 

From the corner of her eye, she saw Robin desperately fighting, Alistair too busy to help. Maker be damned, he should’ve stayed back.

“Magic, use your magic,” she shouted. There was no time to see if he did as told. Her sword met that of a bandit. Too strong. She shifted to the Fade. His weapon moved through her, past her. And back to the waking world. Her sword shimmered, became solid right before it hit the bandit.

The battle was quickly growing in size and fierceness, becoming just as chaotic and confusing as a much younger Robin had been warned real battle would be - nothing like the orderly one-on-ones on the training grounds. It was too bad his training had been cut short before he made it from dire warnings to being trained in fighting real battles.

Use magic? As it was, it was all he could do to stay alive. “I’ve only got two… oof! Two hands!” he hollered back in protest to Neria’s suggestion. He stemmed himself with his shield against the hits with the battle axe, just trying his best not to trip or run into anyone as he was crowded further into the back of the cave, and thus further away from his new friends. Out of the corner of his eyes, he caught the bright blue light of electricity spells and occasionally a flash of sickly green of Walking Bomb. It was good to know Neria was holding her own, even if he was alone.

Robin may have been alone but he was tall and had the warrior’s build all Trevelyans shared. It served him well now as he buckled, but didn’t fall under the blows of the axe. He would be blue and black tomorrow from using his full body to stem himself against the blows hitting his shield but even if he buckled, he didn’t fall. Indeed, he got in the occasional jab of his own and he celebrated each like the victory it was.

Still, the back of the wall got ever closer. Robin looked over his shoulder in alarm, then ended up twice as alarmed when he realized there was just one more large step to go. His chest felt far too tight for his racing heart. Use magic, Neria had said. He dropped his sword though he held on to the shield and let all the panic that had been building up in him release with a gust of fire sprouting from his free hand. It wasn’t a proper spell, it was nothing but the product of his fear, but it made the bandit leader rear back, buying him precious moments.

Then suddenly, there was a second shield slamming into the giant, making his knees buckle for a change and Robin scrambled for his dropped sword. Alistair stood tall and proud in battle, easily withstanding blows that had Robin yelping and staggering. He found the hilt of his sword and joined the battle again, actually able to get in an attack every now and then with the bandit leader focused on Alistair.

Around them, the cave had gone quiet. Robin dared look away from their opponent to catch sight of two bandits all but throwing themselves out of the cave, chased by crackling blue. He laughed, albeit breathlessly. They would be winning this, and he would still be alive to see it.

“Surrender!” he demanded with a sudden bout of courage, moving forward again. They were finding a pattern now, Alistair and him, with him using his weaker attacks to distract the leader so Alistair could get in his punishing hits. “Your men are defeated or run off!”

And release! Neria sent the last of the bandits flying out of the cave with a bolt of arcane magic. Only the leader was left, she could hear Alistair and Robin fighting him at the other side of the cave. The clamour of their weapons and shields reflected off the walls, filling the entire space until her entire body reverberated with the sound. There was a pause when Robin cried for the bandit leader to surrender and then the blows continued. Knowing she would only get in the way--three people using melee attacks on a single target was a recipe for disaster--she gathered magic. The same spell she had used on the weapons of the bandits, now used to help her allies.

With all the raw magic in the air, Robin didn’t notice the spell being cast on his sword until all of a sudden, the blade cut through the heavy plating on the bandit’s shoulder with ease. The man howled in rage, responding with another heavy blow aimed all at Robin. It was a mistake, for that gave an opening to Alistair, the far more experienced fighter.

The bellow cut off while Robin was still hiding behind his borrowed shield, turning into a gurgle. When he lowered it again, Alistair’s sword was embedded in the man’s chest. 

“I… thought you wanted surrender?” he asked, eyes wide. He let the shield sink fully. The sword dropped from his hand. It was over. It was really over. Slowly, his legs gave out and he sank to the ground where he stood. He was sweat-soaked, his face flushed with exertion. “Let’s not do that again.”

Neria rushed over to where the Enchanter was sitting, while Alistair knelt next to Robin. The force field had decayed, but the Enchanter hadn’t moved. She bound his hands using the cord that had been tied around his robes, before she too joined Robin. 

“They brought this on themselves, if they hadn’t attacked, this wouldn’t have happened.” She ignored that Robin had been the one to rush forward, he didn’t need that added to his conscience. If he’d been one of her recruits, she’d have berated him for not following orders, but he wasn’t. She gave him a closer look, had her words registered with him at all?

“We should get him outside,” she said to Alistair, who nodded and made to help Robin stand up. Ignoring the glare on the enchanter’s face, she led the man outside.

Robin nodded at Neria’s words but they barely registered through the haze of exhaustion, both mental and physical and most of all emotional. People had died today. Too many people had died today. He didn’t resist when Alistair pulled him to his feet and steered him outside, following behind Neria and Enchanter Richvine.

The cool night air hit Robin’s face and quickly cooled off his sweat-soaked robes. He shivered, standing a little closer to Alistair. “They did bring this on themselves,” he agreed, belatedly. 

“Figures the only thing the templar brat is good at is hunting mages,” Richvine spat. The elderly mage was still standing defiant. He yanked his arm free of Neria’s grip, though there was nothing he could do about his hands being tied. “I spent all my life caged in a Circle, I just didn’t want to die in one, too!!”

Keeping magic close, Neria walked to stand in front of the Enchanter. He wanted to be free, that was understandable, really. The way he had tried to reach that freedom wasn’t, though. He was the reason those templars were dead and because of him Robin had nearly died. Two times even: back in the mountain pass and just now.

She put her hands on her hips, straightening to be as tall as possible. “This ‘templar brat’ came to save you, because we thought you were in danger. But it turns out you were just a selfish idiot that was willing to let others die for nothing but his own gain.” 

Robin's mouth opened and closed several times without a word coming out. Neria was defending him and he found himself overwhelmed with relief but he still couldn’t even find words to say so. He just edged a little closer to Alistair yet, half hiding behind him, and hugged himself. 

"Says the apostate who is enjoying her freedom," Richvine spat, though he didn’t look quite so proudly defiant anymore. His eyes flickered to Robin and he heaved a disgruntled sigh. "The boy wasn't supposed to get hurt. I figured if he lived, he would have the good sense to make a run for it."

"If…?!" Robin squawked, finding his voice again.

If? The word echoed in Neria’s mind. This was the kind of person they made an enchanter? Enchanters should be an example for their pupils, protect and help them, all things this Richvine hadn’t done. Robin would’ve made a better enchanter if he got his magic under control, he had put the well-being of someone else before his own. Richvine deserved to be-- But he was right, she was an apostate living outside of the Circle without having to worry about templars catching her, it was easy for her to judge. 

She ground her teeth together to keep from saying anything she would regret. His fate wasn’t hers to decide and she did not like that one bit. But a good leader knew when to defer to someone else. “Robin, what do you suggest we do?” 

"I…" He faltered under the man’s bitter glare. He already knew what his answer would be, everybody in the Ostwick Circle knew his opinion on mages and their place in the world. But just because he knew it was the Maker’s will didn't make it any easier to bear the disdain it earned him. Or in this case, bitter, resigned condemnation. He took a deep breath and gulped, forcing his shoulders to straighten and his chin to lift. He was a Trevelyan of Ostwick, he didn’t cower. Except when he did. 

"He is a mage," he said. "Mages belong in a Circle." The man started muttering angrily, though he didn’t try to argue with Robin. Four years and being sent to the Circle himself hadn’t managed to sway him. "The rest is not for me to decide. That is the templars' domain, they alone can enforce the Maker’s will."

Seeing Robin standing there, his voice leaving no room for doubt, a strange sense of pride welled up in her chest. Strange, for she didn’t agree with his statement, and pride, because he hadn't spoken out of anger. His words had sounded preachy though, almost like he was reciting one of those never-ending lessons in Chantry doctrine. Did he really mean it when he said that mages belonged in Circles? If so, would he go back voluntarily? Just the thought of giving up freedom that easily made her want to lecture him about how the Chantry didn’t hold all truths.

In a soft voice so Richvine wouldn't hear, she asked, “What about you? You could go to Tevinter, live a free life.”

Robin looked at her, mouth agape as if she had suggested he sacrifice a baby on the altar of the Old Gods. "Are you joking?" He hissed urgently. "You must be joking! Tevinter is…" He waved his arms around and finally settled on the motion like he was slashing a knife over his left forearm. "Blood magic. Slavery. They blackened the Golden City." He shook his head. "We may have family in Tevinter but I'm not going anywhere but back to the Circle." He shot Neria a reproachful look. "That's nothing to joke about, I could get in trouble if someone thought I was serious."

From the way he sounded, she must be a demon trying to lure him into a trap. Neria resisted the urge to roll her eyes and instead glanced at Alistair, who simply shrugged his shoulders. If this was what Robin wanted… 

“All right, we’ll go to the Circle and leave you and Richvine there.” She waited, part of her hoping he would reconsider.

He slumped in relief, flashing Neria a little grin, completely oblivious to her hope he might change his mind. “Thank you. That’s awfully nice of you. I figured I’d make my way on foot to the nearest town with a Chantry, since they should have templars there, but that was when it was just me. If you could take us back to Ostwick Circle…” His face darkened as his eyes found Richvine again. The man no longer looked defiant, just very tired and like he had aged a decade in an hour. Good, Robin thought viciously. 

“There’s no way we’re going to Starkhaven now. He’s never going to go anywhere ever again, except maybe to Aeonar,” he added, and where before he had spoken out of piety, now he didn’t even try to hide the spite bubbling up in him. He ground his teeth together, brows furrowing. “I’m never going to go anywhere either,” he added, quieter. The spite, quick as it had come, was just as quickly replaced by misery settling in his belly and spreading from there until his eyes were prickling. He turned away from Neria and Alistair so they wouldn’t see but his voice still shook. “This was my first time ever leaving the Circle. Now I’ll never get to leave again.”

She nearly threw her hands up in disbelief; one moment, he was horrified by the idea of a mage living outside the Circle and the next, he complained about being locked up? It was his decision to go back to the Circle, so he would have to live with that. Did she feel for him being locked up in there again? Yes, she did. However, he had had his chance at a different life and had chosen not to take it, a mistake in her opinion. His mistake and he would have to face the consequences. 

She sighed, rolling her shoulders to loosen the last tension from the fight. “We should get to our horses and make camp for the night.”

"Okay. Yes. You are right. We should." He swallowed again and blinked fiercely. He had to be brave now, the Trevelyans would never again be proud of him but he could at least do his best. He looked around. "Alright. Let's make camp. And leave for Ostwick first thing in the morning." It was just pointless babble but he didn't know what else to say. There was nothing left to say.

Robin’s mood remained somber as they returned to the horses with their equally somber prisoner.

Camp was made quickly below the cave, none of them wishing to sleep amidst corpses and blood. It was his last night of freedom but Robin didn’t feel like celebrating it. He curled up in his bedroll and listened to the breathing of the others until it lulled him into restless sleep. He didn't dream of the different life Neria had offered him and he was glad for it. Reality was easier to bear without temptation. 

The first light of day woke Neria. Careful not to disturb Alistair, she sneaked out of the bedroll and went about rekindling the fire. On the other side, Robin was sleeping in a borrowed bedroll and leaning to a stone ridge was a tied-up Richvine. Alistair’s horse wouldn’t like the added load, she thought absently, poking through the glowing embers. 

The morning fog that hung between the mountains cleared while she prepared the breakfast and the others woke one by one. They ate the bland porridge in silence, not even Alistair’s usual witty remarks breaking it. 

“Alistair, you take Richvine. Robin, you ride with me again,” she said when they had packed and were ready to leave. She gave the remains of their camp a last look before getting on her horse. Only the black ashes showed they had been here and soon wind and rain would remove even those traces. Like nothing had changed.

***

Salty sea-wind blew her hair around her face. Neria pushed it behind her ear with an irritated huff. Why would it never listen and stay in the leather straps? Screeching seagulls circled the ship and as she was watching, one dived low, skirted the surface of the water and rose with a fish in its beak. _Can you see the birds from the Ostwick Circle?_ The thought was immediately followed by: _Now I’ll never get to leave again._ She gripped the railing tighter, her knuckles pale against her olive skin.

“You did what you could, you know?” Next to her, Alistair leaned on the railing.

“I know,” she said curtly.

Alistair raised an unbelieving eyebrow. 

She folded her arms. “I do understand that. I could hardly force him to make a different decision, could I? He chose the Circle and that’s fine.”

“Riiight, you’re fine with it. And here I was thinking you were making some plan to tie him up and send him on a ship to Tevinter.” 

Her lips turned to a wry smile. “He’d set the ship on fire the moment he’d break free.” 

Alistair laughed and after a confused silence--she hadn’t meant that to be funny--so did she. Laughter was better than thinking about the subdued goodbye in Ostwick.

After arriving at the Ostwick Circle, she had explained the situation to the First Enchanter and Knight-Commander, emphasizing Robin’s role in getting Richvine back. Perhaps they would understand and let him keep the little freedom he had had. Likely, they wouldn’t. He was back in the Circle just because he had been stubborn in his belief that the Circle was where mages should be. How could she hope to change what he, and countless others, had been taught their entire lives? Being called a hero didn’t mean others had to listen to her. Except for those that had promised to do so.

She was back in the Royal Palace in Denerim, standing before Queen Anora. _I ask for independence for the Circle._ Little had come of that, being a Warden-Commander and Arlessa had kept her too busy to press the matter with Anora. Too busy to visit the Circle, or that was what she told herself. There was no time for memories of hallways running red with blood and bodies or the pain of missing faces. 

She bit her lip. In trying to avoid that old pain, she had forgotten the others she had promised to help. She’d been selfish.

“Alistair, when we get back, I have a visit to make. Will you join me?”

***

There had been a time not too long ago when Robin Trevelyan had fought side by side with real life heroes.

As he sank to his knees before the statue of Andraste in Ostwick Circle’s chantry, that time seemed very far away, as if it had been part of a different life or a peculiarly vivid dream.

He bowed his head, the Canticle of Trials falling from his lips with barely a thought needed. He wished he would struggle to recall the words, then his thoughts wouldn’t keep straying to the Vimmark where he had met the heroes of his favorite stories.

They said you should never meet your heroes, that it would lead to nothing but disappointment, yet meeting them life-sized had only further convinced Robin that Neria and Alistair were everything their legends claimed. They were noble and kind, and he was glad to know they were out there making Thedas a better place.

They were out there – and he was in here, once more locked away from the world behind impenetrable walls. For a moment, Robin felt like he was back in the mountains and Neria was giving him the choice to leave. Would he choose differently, if he could go back to that moment? This question hadn’t left him alone since the doors of the Circle closed behind him for the last time in years, if not forever.

“I shall weather the storm,” he chanted, his voice a mere whisper in the hallowed silence of the sanctuary. “I shall endure.”

He looked down at his hands and channeled fire into them. Flames danced over his fingers. When he peered up at the statue of Andraste, it was far too easy to imagine that her marble face held disapproval. “Sorry, my Lady,” he murmured and let the flames die. “What you have created, no one can tear asunder,” he continued with the Chant, yet it was hard to believe the words and he faltered. “I shall weather the storm?”

His head bowed. There were mages out there, mages like Neria who were free and yet righteous. Mages who were the kind of hero he had always dreamed of being. If he were out there… Neria had asked him if he didn’t wish to flee to Tevinter and Robin’s answer on this hadn’t changed. Never, never would he turn his back on the Divine and her commands, his rebellion against the Chantry would never go further than finding secret solace in Dissonant Verses. Never would he flee the Circle or make himself an enemy of the Templar Order and force his own siblings to hunt him down and put him to the blade. But what if he had asked her to take him with her, to make him the mage she was?

It didn’t matter now. The Wardens were gone and would have forgotten him already. 

“I shall endure,” Robin told himself.

Andraste looked kindly upon him and yet there was a part of Robin that still wished he were anywhere but here.


End file.
